


late night improvisations

by comeapart



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Cocaine, Drug Addiction, I am so sorry, I think that's it - Freeform, M/M, POV First Person, Past Child Abuse, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-30
Updated: 2017-01-30
Packaged: 2018-09-20 18:55:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9507614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/comeapart/pseuds/comeapart
Summary: Hi, I’m Alaska Thunderfuck 5000, and you can’t drop the number because it means something. I don’t know what it means, but I’ll make it up, because I can do that it’s my life. Sharon, Shannon, Shar, sharing needles, you are beautiful and I want you to ruin my life like I’ll ruin yours. It took me three lines to give me the courage to walk up to you and another to talk to you but I made it, Sharon. You want to get high?





	

**Author's Note:**

> first person read tags before continuing adult themes

Hi, I’m a bottle of tequila on a wednesday night. Hi, I’m Alaska Thunderfuck 5000, and I’m here to ruin your life and make you wish you were never born, and to make you scream fight kick cry ruin your life. I’m here to ruin your life like snakes in the grass.

 

I grew up in Pittsburgh but it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough to keep me alive, but everyone already tells me I’ve been dead for a long time. The people who talk about me behind stalls in college and at clubs that I shouldn’t have wouldn’t have couldn’t have been allowed into. I had friends and we had parties where we talked about the idea of moving away and running away and existing. I grew up with family that loved me but not enough and definitely not enough to stop me.

 

I grew up with family that I chose, family that weren’t mom telling me you need to be back before eleven and dad that wouldn’t fucking let me exist breathe live. It was dark clubs and lines that Detox brought and Roxxxy holding my hair back the first time it got bad when the light pollution leaked into my veins and brought back a new side of me. I grew up with Family, with a capital FFFFFFFFFF, because they made me Alaska and they let Alaska be. They weren’t mom who thought drag queens were dirty but didn’t want to crush my dreams, and they hated dad who tried to beat it out of me.

 

One time Roxxxy told me I looked like a snake. Not because I was dirty slimy fake but I was long slender beautiful and everything that she wanted me to be because she wanted me to succeed. Me and Roxxxy don’t talk anymore. She doesn’t talk to me but she talks to Detox. I know because Detox checks on me, even though my address is Hollywood and I don’t fucking care about Pittsburgh or any of the other areas places states that they visit and save gay kids in alleyways trying to get into clubs. Roxxxy doesn’t talk to me because I went back to her apartment one night, when my eyes were blown and broken and a thousand times worse than what they are now, and I hit her. I threw up on her carpet and ruined her shoes and I was so nervous and angry and there was lots and lots and lots of cocaine in me and I cried because I didn’t know what to do, I was so nervous. Roxxxy said, ‘I thought we were friends, Justin,’ and never spoke to me again.

 

Hi, I’m Alaska Thunderfuck 5000, and you have a name that starts with an S and that’s all I know. You don’t know me yet, but I’m going to ruin your life. I stare across a room of men drunk on cheap beer and I see you with cocaine in my eyes on my lips burning my head and I think, SSSSSSSSS. Roxxxy was right about me.

 

I grew up with a lot of family around me. Family didn’t mean anything to me anymore, but Detox said that my mom was a good woman, and she didn’t deserve the trouble my dad gave her. Detox never said shit about me.

 

I wrote about my mom for my creative writing paper and it got given back to me with a big DDDDDD on it and my teacher said that I didn’t put any effort into it. What he was really saying was FUCK YOU, JUSTIN. THIS IS WHAT YOU LIVED THROUGH AND IT ISN’T GOOD ENOUGH. THIS ISN’T CREATIVE, THIS IS TRAUMA AND MESS AND I DON’T WANT TRAGEDY, FUCK. Fuck, Alaska Thunderfuck 5000, you have no excuse for the amount of drugs in your system at eleven in the morning, and you have no excuse for the beer cans on your apartment floor and the leftover lines that you should’ve taken.

 

I thought about Detox this morning. I could’ve texted her but I didn’t because she didn’t want to know me, not really, not after I hurt her bestfriendboyfriendgirlfriend and made her wish she’d never had to meet me.

 

Hi, Hey, Hieee, Sharon Needles. Hi, I’m Alaska Thunderfuck 5000, and you can’t drop the number because it means something. I don’t know what it means, but I’ll make it up, because I can do that it’s my life. Sharon, Shannon, Shar, sharing needles, you are beautiful and I want you to ruin my life like I’ll ruin yours. It took me three lines to give me the courage to walk up to you and another to talk to you but I made it, Sharon. You want to get high?

 

Alaska Thunderfuck 5000, they talk about me. They say he’s fucked up all the time he does cocaine and he smokes weed (which they should’ve known because Alaska Thunderfuck isn’t just a state and a place it’s a drug it’s a strain of weed these fucking idiots should’ve checked their facts) and they say she shoots up heroin and they’re wrong about one thing, because I’m scared of needles and of feeling things that aren’t good and I’ve heard too many bad things about heroin to try her out. I would if it meant I could share your needles, Sharon Needles, we could share needles and talk about her. They say I’m fucked up that I’ll ruin your life.

 

They say things about how I sleep with anyone for drugs, and they’re wrong, because I’m a virgin because Roxxxy and Detox would never touch me because my daddy beat sadness into my bones because I’m insane and I’m fucked up. They talk about how I drink all the time and I’m always high and that I never leave my apartment except for parties and clubs and how I’ve never been in love and if I had I would be clean and sober and they’re right, and it’s all true. I’m a local living legend I’m a haunted house willing to fold in and kill if you get too close. I’m a time bomb.

 

Roxxxy Andrews didn’t listen to the things that people said about me until she did.

 

My next creative writing assignment is about mythology and I write about snakes. I should’ve written about theatrics and histrionics and the way my head makes me feel like I’m a God, because I am a God, and how every time I’m brought back with memories, but I don’t want pity. I don’t want my teacher to call the cops on me and tell them all about the big bad wolf that is Alaska Thunderfuck 5000, with the 5000 and delusions and buzz running through my bones.

 

Sharon Needles, Sharing Needles, I had a dream about us. What are we? I know I’m a fool a mistake a monster but what are you? Are you playing with fire?

 

Sharon Needles, I’ve seen you get high once, and you don’t care what people say to you or about you or around you because you’re Sharon Needles. I looked at your Myspace page and it was magic madness heaven hell and it was what I needed. You grew up religious and you made a post about how the catholic church could rot and you made a post about how you lived with another queen named Bob and you both took theatre. I wanted to take theatre, but I settled on Creative Writing and oh, the potential, the perfect storms. I could ruin your life with words but I won’t because you’re beautiful and you take drugs sometimes but you stay sober when I’m near and it’s weird and it makes me smile. Why do you think you’re better than this?

 

All the things people say about you are true and the next time I see you Sharon Needles you are so sober and I’m oh so fucked because I’m in love with you with the thought of you with wanting to be something for you. We talk about our majors and I tell you that I’m failing my classes because I keep missing the mark and you just tell me that it’s okay if I can’t pass because I’m still learning, and you’re older, you’re three years older than me, and you already know it all. You talk about theatre and how you make sets and how you put shows on and how you go to gay clubs and perform in drag with your friend Bob and I’m so jealous because I want to be that friend and I want to be what Roxxxy was to Detox and what Cory and his girlfriend had and I want that with you and it scares me. I tell you that I take English, but I leave out the creative writing part, because I take a fucking stupid major it’s a bad major that only dropouts and failing hipsters take and I take it because I’M NOT GOOD AT ANYTHING except maybe taking too many drugs and living to see the next morning. You give me a look that’s sad, and I want to take it all back, because I’m putting myself down in front of you but I already warned you ruining lives is my thing, that’s what I do and what I do best.

 

I get home from a show where I take drugs on stage and Sharon, I dream about giving you my hands. I take them off at the wrists and they’re yours if you want them, but you don’t want them so I take them back and I’m left with my hands it’s a sequel and the curtain drops and you kiss me like fireworks. I want you to be here when I wake up and my head hurts the same way it’s hurt for the last year and a half and there are no fireworks left.

 

I haven’t eaten in a week because I’ve only drank and cocaine is a miracle drug she’s my best friend and she makes sure I’m not hungry anymore, so it’s sometime in November and I’ve not eaten anything in a week. Nothing makes me hungry anymore, not even when I look with my eyes and see you posting on your Myspace account about how you got pizza after your theatre show and wished for me to come and I should just add you, but I’m so scared, I’m always nervous, and you’re cool. You post on Myspace about how you’re successful and how you’re putting on shows. I post about how sad I am and how high I’ve arched my eyebrows before going out. Makeup is the only interest I have left well that and you, Miss Needles.

 

I got a C on paper about snakes and I get a note saying that I need to focus more on the actual subject rather than my own thoughts. This means FUCK YOU, JUSTIN. YOU’RE SELF OBSESSED AND YOU HAVE TO TAKE DRUGS TO PRETEND YOU AREN’T AND YOU WON’T BE ANYTHING WHEN YOU HAVE TO FIND A REAL JOB. I nearly texted Roxxxy, but she wouldn’t be proud and my mom didn’t care as long as I was blowing my college fund away from her and daddy.

 

Miss Needles, you are too cute. You are so cute and it makes me ache, it makes my whole body tense and flush and I didn’t know those muscles in my cheeks still worked. Are they muscles? You don’t know either but you say I smile nice and you make me feel real. You ask me about loneliness and I lie and say I’ve never felt alone even though I feel so alone all the time when I’m without you when I’m at parties and at home and when you aren’t around. I’m the big bad wolf nobody wants to see me nobody wants to humour me nobody wants to be me nobody wants me.

 

Sharon Needles, with the name that starts with an S and reminds me of being called a snake you have the best heart and you wanted my hands this time in the dream and you kept them because you didn’t care that I was broken and you wanted me you wanted this. I woke up and puked blood on the carpet of my living room I didn’t clean it up because nobody comes here anymore and I cried because you’re ruining my life and I can’t escape I need to get out of here. College isn’t for everyone, someone wise once said. Wisdom is something Alaska Thunderfuck 5000, with the number, lacks and even I know that. My genius is calculated and I’m a fraud I’m so fucking dumb and I’ll prove it to everyone by killing every brain cell that mommy and daddy blessed me with.

 

They say write about something that influences you. I quoted your Myspace bio and said how you made me feel real and it was less than a hundred words but I handed it it in anyway. I got it back with an FFFFF, which meant JUSTIN, YOU AREN’T TRYING, YOU’RE RELYING TOO MUCH ON YOUR EMOTIONS AND IT ISN’T GOOD ENOUGH AND IF YOU KEEP GOING THIS WAY I WILL HAVE TO FAIL YOU OUT OF MY CLASSES and I didn’t mind because it was about you and you made it special. Next time I’ll put in the part about giving you my hands at the wrists and letting you keep them and I’ll prove that I’m okay.

 

Sharon Needles, theatre girl and crossdresser, we’re in the same place and you smell so good. Sharon Needles, Noodles, pleased to meet you again I’m the big bad wolf and I’m dangerous and you don’t know where your red cloak is but that’s okay because I’m not hungry anymore.

 

It’s always parties and you always seem so happy, you said Hi Alaska! And you seemed so happy and it made me warm like how weed makes me relax enough to sleep in my own bed until you weren’t happy anymore and your face was melting like wax and you’d flown too close to the sun, except I wasn’t the sun I’m never the sun, because I’m never happy enough to be anyone’s light. I was buzzing and I wanted to kiss you, rough you up and teach you things about hating yourself like I do. I didn’t.

 

Alaska, what’s wrong? Alaska, you look sad. I don’t know why I look sad, you’re the only thing I need, I could go cold turkey if you would promise to be mine. I don’t tell you this because I’m the wolf, and wolves don’t have remorse for their actions. They’re angry animals that hurt people and worship their primal instincts but my primal instinct is you and it’s always going to be you and it makes me hurt. It makes me hurt like I’m dying inside and everything is rotting and freezing over in the winter sun and there are no more sunsets, at least not when I’m awake.

 

My needles, my only needle, I’m seeing more and more of you and sometimes you look at me like you want me but you don’t know how. We share a dealer, but I only know this because I look at your Myspace when I’m fucked up, and I saw him in your friendslist. Sometimes you look at me like you want to touch me, like I’m abandoned property looking for vagabonds to keep and protect with what’s left of my sensibilities, and sometimes you look at me like you don’t know. That makes me sad, it makes me cry, and the blood in the carpet keeps getting bigger. It looks like my apartment is bleeding out, draining my life and I don’t mind it anymore because at least it’s accurate.

 

Detox said that there wasn’t anything about me that was real, anything left inside of me that could be even deemed as slightly real. She said this in a text message when I was fucked up on her floor, pains in my stomach burning through to the morning after when she was gone. I read the text drunk, and read it again and deleted it. I was a snake. I let the words stick to my hands, my fingertips, and I can still recite them. It’s been months since I’ve seen anyone I considered family. I wonder if I’ll die before I see anyone.

 

Sharon Needles it’s very different that I’m sober. It makes me feel like I’m going to die and I’m scared of death so I don’t stay sober I get drunk when I wake up and top up with designer drugs throughout the day all the way until I fall asleep. Take this moment of Alaska Thunderfuck 5000, Clean and Sober and never doing this again.

 

“Hey Alaska, how are you?” Your voice is always oh so concerned, like being older gives you rights to ruin my life and every feeling and emotion I’m trying to teach myself. It’s so sweet of you that you care. You have bleach blonde hair in the daytime, no wigs or makeup or dresses and it’s pretty and I’ve never seen skin like yours before it looks like you’ve got diamonds under shining through and sparkling. I’m pale too but I’m sick, what’s your excuse? You just live in the night. You’re my vampire saviour, which is so kind and sweet and perfect from someone who hates the church. I wonder if you would burn like vampires do if you walked into a church, or like the way I do when I don’t take drugs and I have to accept the weight of my sins sticking to my back.

 

“I don’t know, but I don’t feel good,” I’m property, you see? I don’t know how to feel. I know how to mirror what people tell me to feel, or what I know after a night out, but unless there’s something illegal inside of me I don’t feel good. You put your hand on my shoulder, on top of my fluffy coat, and I melted a little. You were trying to comfort me, teach me not to hate myself, but all you did was make the five ams less dangerous and make me smile all the way into my lectures. Thank you thank you thank you miss Needles. You tell me to call you Aaron and you give me your number in case I want to hang out, but you’re still my Needles.

 

Alaska Thunderfuck 5000, you’re going to ruin Sharon Needles life. Alaska Thunderfuck 5000, there isn’t anything about you that’s real, anything left inside of you that could be even deemed as slightly real.

 

Justin Honard, there isn’t anything left inside of you that could be even deemed as slightly real.

 

When my real daddy died I sat outside of the church and I cried all the time and I cried when Cory came and tried to help me and I cried when I told Roxxxy when the cocaine was filling my thoughts and telling me YOU NEED TO GIVE THEM YOUR EXCUSES. When my second daddy, my dad that wasn’t my dad because he was Cory’s dad and not my dad, wanted me to grow up, he didn’t use words. I wonder if he had if I would still be like this. I wonder if I will ever stop crying. Do I have excuses or are they just words? I email my teacher and she doesn’t reply. I don’t blame her.

 

Sharon Needles, this is dream three. Three doesn’t sound like much, but this time, you keep my hands, and you put them back on me and keep me too. I want to make you smile so bad, instead of making you sad and it hurts me and I wake up and throw up more blood and I know I’m rotting inside but maybe I can make you happy sometime. Maybe you’ll let me make you happy.

 

I see you at another party, because I saw you were going to Bob’s house party at your own house on Myspace and I wanted to be with you. You walk up to me and say something but I can’t hear you, because my ears are dancing with cocaine and E and probably something else, and you drag me to your room to get me alone. You ask me if I’m okay, and I don’t know. You ask me if I’ve drunk too much, or if I’ve taken drugs. I love that you don’t judge me like the rest of them, like how my teacher shies away from mentioning drugs or how that cute girl in my class tries to get me to admit to it before asking.

 

I can’t stop laughing by the time you’ve managed me to get me to sit on your bed, sitting next to me and touching my arm in the right way and I want to sleep with you, Sharon Needles, I want you to be my first and I want you to make me realise why I waited for something for once in my life. I tell you I took E, because you already know I take cocaine like people drink water. Oh, Noodles, I’ve been through all of this before, I’ve been through these questions, and I’m sorry for making you frown.

 

You make me drink water by putting the cup to my lips and I open my mouth and half of it goes all over me but I don’t care, because you’re making me less me, you’re making me nervous and I don’t even mind because it’s you Sharon it’s always been you. I definitely got some water into my system, but I have no idea how much, and you’re making me lie down but I don’t want to, so you let me put my head in your lap and you smell so good. What do you do to make yourself this good? It definitely isn’t cocaine.

 

“You feel any better?” You ask, and I just mumble something, and you stroke my hair and say something that I don’t catch until you ask me again, and you’re so warm and it makes me not insane anymore, at least not right now. “Do you have classes tomorrow, Justin?” I do, but I’m not going to them. I’m not going to any of my classes, because fuck classes, I can do all the work at home and not be judged by the masses of students who think they’re better than me because they are better than me. I tell you no, and you smile. “Do you wanna get coffee tomorrow with me? Around eleven? Are you going to be awake by then?”

 

Yeah, Sharon Needles, I’d love that. I don’t say love, but I do tell you yes, because I want it so bad and you let me lie in your lap with my head against your crotch until the party ends. Someone calls me a cab home but I don’t take it, and I walk the way back. It’s cold in Hollywood.

 

My head hurts and my heart hurts and my bones hurt and I want to be at your party again. Sharon Needles, my teacher will be so mad at me, but it’s so kind of you to buy me coffee and insist on paying. Alcohol is expensive and I don’t have any money left in my bank account, so thank you. I don’t tell you about all the horrible things I do for money, because I’m not in danger per se, I just don’t care about getting naked and asking guys for things on camera. I should get a sugar daddy, because at least then I wouldn’t have to deal things I want to take when there aren’t enough men online to coax out of their card numbers.

 

I tell you thank you so many times that you laugh, you actually smile and I want to kiss you because I did it I got Sharon Needles to smile and she seems to like me. I can ruin your life in seconds and you can smile and you can make me want to exist without all the bad inside of me, like a timebomb or a wolf or a fucking black hole. I thank you again, and you just smile at me wider and blush and tell me you’re welcome, and yeah, I am welcome. Thank you for inviting me, Sharon Needles, thank you for making me leave my apartment before it got dark. The sunlight burns my skin but it makes me think of you and your blonde hair and your smile and I want to spend all my days with you in the sun.

 

I’m fucked up. I’m Alaska Thunderfuck 5000, and I’m completely fucked up. I’m so happy that I want to live for the next five minutes until I’m not and I’m crying on the sidewalk and trying to walk into traffic that isn’t there. I’m being stared at and I’m crying and I’ve always been a crybaby and I’m so scared that you’ll listen to the things people say about me and you’ll hate me because they’re true. What are you doing with me, Sharon Needles?

 

You like theatre and you like parties where people aren’t fucked up like me, and I got my paper back that I don’t remember writing. I got a BBBB on the paper, and it was about Detox. I never once capitalised her name, and my teacher probably got the wrong idea. Either way, I’m making you proud, even if you don’t know it.

 

You ask me out for coffee again, and I say YES because it’s you. You get me more coffee and you don’t let me pay and my bag has all the essays I’ve failed but they mean nothing because I have my essay which got a BBBB too. You tell me that I look hungry, and I haven’t eaten in at least a week, so I let you buy me one of the muffins they make and I pick pieces off like a vulture. You call me “Lasky,” in passing and I forget how to breathe and I don’t know whether it’s because my body doesn’t like food anymore or if it’s because you like me enough to give me a nickname. I smile when you keep calling me Lasky and yeah, it’s the nickname, and you make me smile. You are magical and I don’t know why people keep talking about you like you’re a graveyard, because you’re the only place I feel alive.

 

I meet you in the library on campus that I only discovered existed when I asked to borrow a textbook that I couldn’t afford, and you make fun of me for not knowing it existed, and you show me things in your sketchbook about set design and you teach me all these terms that I can’t remember. I don’t know why you keep making an effort with me, because I’m trouble, Sharon Needles. I tell you that I want to draw you, and you just smile and say we’ll make those plans later, because you’re just starting your masters and you need to make sure your theatre degree is on track before you can do things that aren’t coffee and partying. I think you don’t think that I can draw, but I can, because I spent a long time building this face and these perfect lines that make me look like a girl.

 

You offer to brush my wig next time, and you come to watch me perform. I take off all my clothes and I’m so pale, but nobody cares, because I’m wearing fake tits and nails that are longer than my fingers and I’m an embarrassment in a wig. Afterwards, I manage to find the panties again, and I spend the rest of the night with you. You watch as I do lines off of a girl I can’t remember the name of, something like William or Willam or Willim and you just hold me when things start fading.

 

I dream about you holding me, and I wake up on my floor. I’m glad you aren’t here, Sharon Needles, because you would be scared of my apartment. I’m glad you don’t come here. I’m glad you let me come to you instead. Four dreams about a boy don’t seem like much, but they’re about you, and I want to do theatre with you. I wanted to be an actor when I was little. I wanted a lot of things.

 

I can’t remember if Sharon Needles is taller than me. I will ask her next time I see her. I write this in my notebook and hand it in instead of the essay I was supposed to write, and leave the class an hour earlier than I should’ve.

 

“I like you.”

 

This is what you say to the big bad wolf, the mistake, and the life ruiner. You tell me you like me when you think I’m not paying attention, and we’re watching a movie on your couch, and it’s mid december. It’s winter. Summer is when you’re supposed to fall in love, but you still say it, because you’re Sharon Needles and you don’t give a fuck about what you’re supposed to do. I like you too, I like you so much, and I hug you a little tighter when I slur the words out. I’m trying to whisper, but I’m still the villain, and I’m drunk from the morning. I still said it, though, and you heard me.

 

I’m going to cry and puke and break down and wish that you had never gotten to me when I get home, but right now, you wrap your arms tight around me and anchor me and I let my bones sink into yours because I haven’t got any weight left and I nearly fall asleep on you, ignoring the movie you told me to pay attention to you because I want to think about you.

 

Sharon Needles kissed me on December 12th. I write it down, hundreds of times into my notebook when I should be making notes on math, but math isn’t important and I know I’ll fail anyway. Sharon Needles kissed me after Bob left the room to go to a class and we were eating plain bread and picking it apart and I was so high that I felt everything and Sharon Needles tasted like the good type of liquor, sweet and warm and perfect.

 

Needles, my Needle, my baby and my prince and my princess, I fucked up so bad. I fucked up and I got fucked by my dealer because I couldn’t afford what I wanted to buy and he said I could have it if I let him touch me. I didn’t tell him I was a virgin because I didn’t want him to think I was weak but he got inside of me and roughed me up like a crash test car, and there was blood when I got home. My body looks like a war ground but I’m not in debt, I’m not scared, and I’m not going to tell you because I don’t want you to hold it against me. I fucked up like I fuck everything up, I ruin lives, but you already knew this. I came home and drank more and threw up blood on my carpet and in the bathroom, which is a new one, and I won’t ever clean it up because I deserve this.

 

Sharon Needles has kissed me six times, which is lucky. It’s the evil number, but it’s our number. I stop going to class completely, and ignore every single email my teacher sends me, and I don’t care if she kicks me out. I slip papers under her door when I go in to visit Sharon Needles after her classes, and make sure she never sees me, because I look bad all the time I haven’t washed in weeks and it’s showing under all the makeup and fake self esteem.

 

It’s weird to eat meals. I don’t have much choice in eating, but you feed me, Sharon Needles, and you make sure I eat once a day. You’re making my bones look less like bones, and my stomach stop turning every single morning. You take me out and buy me food and I thank you so much that my teeth nearly fall out, and I ignore the fact that I should be telling you I love you.

 

I don’t ever want you to see my apartment, but I need to get something from my room before we go to yours and I have to let you in and you turn cold. You look at my apartment and you look as scared and sad as you did the first time I told you I wasn’t okay. I can feel myself burning up, like I need to cry but I can’t, because you shouldn’t have seen it. You thought I was okay, because you’re an optimist, and I’m not, because self sabotage is my favourite thing. You see all the drugs on my table and the blood and the puke and the blanket that I keep on the couch because I don’t sleep in my room and I don’t leave my couch because I keep my drugs there and you can see the dust collecting on all my things and the fact I haven’t ever been into my kitchen because I don’t eat anymore. I drag you out of my apartment once I’ve gotten my coat and the bag with my wig and makeup in, and I walk ahead of you because I pretend you haven’t seen anything and I pretend that there’s just rain and it’s not my tears because you don’t know JUSTIN, THE CRYBABY, but you know ALASKA THUNDERFUCK 5000, who is everything Justin isn’t.

 

Sharon Needles, you have kissed me a total of sixty-six times. I want to make a joke about it, but I don’t want you to realise how fucking insane I am, and how I counted every kiss. That’s our lucky number, our graveyard number, and it’s ours. I’m sleeping over. I don’t ask if this is because you now know I sleep on my couch surrounded by my own blood, but I probably know. We make out in your room and I try to give you my hands, like I do in my dreams, but they won’t unhinge. Instead, I give you my body, and you don’t want it. You don’t think I can consent to what I’m asking for, and it hurts. You’re right, but it still hurts that your friends know all about me, but you still think I’m pure.

 

You hold me all night, and I don’t know if you love me or if you pity me. You touched my hip and pulled me closer, and you didn’t mention my bones or the fact they kind of hurt to lie next to even though they definitely did because they hurt to lie on. I write about you in another paper, six pages of exactly why relationship dynamics were important, and how dating someone brought out youth within people. You make me feel young again, like before when my daddy died. I get an AAAAAAA, and hey, that’s part of your name. That’s you, Aaron Sharon Needles. You got me a good grade.

 

Dream number five is numb. I don’t know what I would do without you, so I freak out, and I puke more. There’s so much blood everywhere, Sharon Needles. You don’t want to know me.

 

I tell you so many times that I’m sorry, because I’m drunk, but worse than that, I’m high too and you’re looking at me funny and I can’t stop apologising because I am sorry. I’m Sorry with a capital letter, because it’s important. I want to kiss you, but you pull away, and you just want to know what is going on. My mouth is numb with pills and I AM SO SORRY THAT I SLEPT WITH MY DEALER, THAT I LET HIM FUCK ME BEFORE I LET YOU FUCK ME, I WISH I HADN’T LET HIM TOUCH ME BECAUSE I WANTED YOU TO BE MY FIRST BECAUSE I LOVE YOU AND I WISH YOU LOVED ME LIKE I LOVED YOU, I AM SO SO SORRY. Your friend is looking at me like they hate me but they don’t because they’re sorry that I hurt myself more than anything else, and you’re making me leave, because you don’t want me to embarrass you and I feel like I’m fifteen again and daddy is going to hit me because I won’t stop crying because that’s all I am anymore, I’m sadness and broken glass and tears and none of me is real.

 

I’m Alaska Thunderfuck 5000, and I want your nightmares I want to be your nightmares. I did lines before my English class, and it’s cold outside, and there’s no Sharon Needles so there’s no reason to even try. I’ll ruin your life, so you don’t come back. I want you back, Sharon Needles. I want you back so bad.

 

My daddy used to hit me every day, and my mommy never told anyone. I was the only kid he hurt, because I was gay, and he was horrible. I miss my real daddy, I didn’t want him to die. I don’t know why he had to die but I want him back. I have to write a paper about suffering and about how everything is fine because if I let on that I’m broken, I’m going to be hospitalised, and nobody has told me this but I know because I know things. I know all these things, Sharon Needles, and nobody will listen to me.

 

I write about child abuse and how all little kids want is to listen to their parents and how at that age everything you hear has a direct effect on you, and all little kids want is to hear the brilliant things that adults come up with and experience. I don’t mention how it sticks through until you’re an adult, how you still rely on parental figures to exist as a real person. I still get an A. It makes me think of you, Sharon Needles, and your boy name that I didn’t ever call you once.

 

My dealer appeared at my doorstep and I used up all of my money for the rest of the semester on drugs, and now I’m set for months. Months is more like days at the rate I’m going at but I’m the wolf, I’m the dragon, I’m the bad guy in the shitty movie you made me watch and I don’t care.

 

I see your roommate, Bob, in the corridor on my way to drop off a paper. I should smile, like a normal person, but all I can think about is the fact that you probably talk about me and you probably believe everything he says about how bad I am now and you never used to, and I scream in his direction because I don’t know how to deal with emotions anymore. I don’t know what else to do, but I’m crying, I’m sobbing, and I drop off the paper and call a cab home, and when I can’t pay, I give him my watch and tell him it’s silver. It is, but he doesn’t believe me, and tells me to keep it and never to call again. I wish he’d called the cops on me and made me suffer, because I deserved it and I deserve it and I’m so afraid of myself. I’m so afraid of myself, Sharon Needles, I’m so fucking scared.

 

I want you to be okay, Sharon Needles. I hope you’re doing better than I am. My apartment smells like blood and I haven’t left my couch in days, because I don’t have anything to do other than lie in my own sadness. I’m skin and bones, and you need to help me again, because you were the only thing I had going for me. I haven’t slept in two days now, and soon it will be three, and then I will be left with my head screaming at me for something I can’t do. Can you die from sleep deprivation, Sharon Needles? Can I?

 

Hi, I’m Alaska Thunderfuck 5000, and the club I used to see Roxxxy and Detox at was just the subject of a shooting. I don’t know if either of them are alive, but I saw it on my TV, when the news was finally willing to tell the numbers. Fifty six people died that night. I hope my friends weren’t part of that number. I love them so much, even though they hated me, and I don’t want them to die. I will never know if they died because I am weak and anxious and I can’t even fucking call them, and it’s good, because they would’ve hung up had they heard me. I know it.

 

I don’t know why but I’m high and I’ve finished a whole bottle of Tequila within twenty minutes, and I want to see you. I miss you, Sharon Needles, and I love you so much. I love you and I know that I’m cold blooded and I’m a snake, and you don’t want anything to do with me, but I’m in love with you. I miss you so much, and I want to die. I don’t know why, but I decide I want to die now, and I use one of the shards of bottle from the floor and the blood and I try and stab myself, but it doesn’t work, it just bleeds. My stomach hurts. I think if I’m going to die, I want to be asleep, and if this is a slow way of dying, I’ll sleep through it. 

 

I’m sorry, Roxxxy Andrews and Detox Icunt and that girl William that I never learnt the name of and all of the local performers who got mad when I got the most tips. You would all be so disappointed if you knew Justin Honard, Alaska Thunderfuck 5000, was a failure. I am so sorry, all of you. I miss you so much, Sharon Needles. I miss you so so so much.

 

AAAAAAAA, A for Aaron and Sharon sounds like Aaron, and I miss you.

 

It hurts, kind of. I think it should hurt more, but instead of sleeping, I did another five lines and turned the TV up to fill the silence. There is glass pointing out of my stomach and my body looks disgusting and I can’t stop thinking about theatre. I want to fucking die from how happy theatre and cocaine and cocaine and more cocaine can make me. I should get up and clean and make you come over and stop pretending I’m sick, because I’m not sick, not in the way people think I am. I want you to be mine so badly, I want to be Myspace official and I want you to talk about me and brag when people ask because you got me, you got the loser with the drug addiction in love with you head over heels and desperate. SSSSS always reminded me of snakes.

 

You called my apartment and left a message, and you called me Lasky, and then you called me Justin. I couldn’t move because of the glass, but I listened, and you told me you loved me. Past tense. It burnt me more than any lighter or high could. You said I never let you hold my hand, but you never wanted to hold my hand. You sounded like you regretted it. I wanted to take the glass out of my body and put it back and try again, but it was scabbing and it hurt so bad and I wanted you more.

 

I hurt so much, Sharon Needles, because all of the drinks are empty and I can’t reach any of the drugs and I can’t move and there’s so much blood, and I look like a horror movie. I look like I belong in your graveyard, and maybe I get it now, why they call you a graveyard. You hold what’s left of my heart, I think. I would check, but that requires moving, and I can’t do that. I think I’m going to die, and I’m throwing up on myself and there’s blood and bile and it burns in a way that hurts more than anything Cory’s dad did to me.

 

It hurts to open my eyes, so I stop opening them and I listen to the TV. My apartment smells like hell, like real hell where people are forced to live out their deaths, wondering exactly why things were bad.

 

“Lasky, I found you,” You’re crying, Sharon Needles, and I don’t know why. I’m so sorry for making you sad, I don’t ever want you to be sad, because I love you so much. I think you’ve called an ambulance, but I don’t remember moving or getting into it, and I think you’ve made them strap my neck down because my nose won’t stop bleeding now I’m awake again. You made them leave my hand free, though, because you wanted to hold it, and you made me smile even though I was about to die. I think if I had died in that moment, I wouldn’t have minded, because it would’ve been with you.

 

I spend the time without you asking about you. I ask every nurse I see, and from the second they take me into the surgery, I dream about you. I don’t think I’m going to die this time, but I would deserve it if I did. I did all this damage to myself, because I couldn’t do it to you, and I’m the big bad wolf, I’m the worst thing you’ll ever experience. I don’t remember my apartment when I wake up, but I nearly throw up, and a nurse stops me from puking on myself by handing me a basin and rubbing my back so kind oh so kindly.

 

Oh, Sharon Needles, I fucked up. You hold my hand like you said I never let you when I wake up, and it looks like you’ve been crying so hard that your eyes might fall out. They tell me that the surgery took a long time, because I had managed to shatter the glass inside of me trying to get to the drugs on my table, and they had to replace the blood because I had lost so much blood I was going to die. You found me, Sharon Needles, and you’re holding my hand so tight, like if you don’t then I might disappear, and I love you. You found me covered in blood and puke and half-dead and you still want to hold my hand.

 

I sleep for days afterwards, and when I wake up again, you’re cuddling me like you did when I stayed over. It scares me how much I like you, and how much you like me back. I think you like me sober, too, and I’m not against that. I think with you around I could like me sober too, because my thoughts are less like car crashes and more like thoughts, more like something you can hold and understand.

 

You pass all of your midterms and you only leave my side once, to go take them. Bob and your friend Willam (that’s her name, and she’s a dude and I can’t believe I didn’t know I should’ve known) take it in turns bringing you food because you won’t leave me, and you want to make sure they’re feeding me, and they are. They feed me through a needle and they make sure I’m hydrated and it’s different. I’m glad I have insurance, because the thought of staying in the hospital for this long out of pocket makes me want to die.

 

I have painkillers pumping through my system while I recover, and your friend Bob even smiles at me, and I apologise for screaming at him because I didn’t know how else to react. I think all of your friends are worried about me. I like all of them now, though.

 

I make you watch TV with me, even though you think I should sleep, and I haven’t been high in six days. I haven’t been drunk or high in six days I’m clean I’m clean and sober and I’m in love with you and all of the withdrawal symptoms are hitting me so hard but I’m in love with you and I can’t sleep because I can’t stop thinking and I shouldn’t speak, but I mumble something about hearing your message, and you definitely heard me. I’m too worried about the things they found in my room to stop myself, and I say, “It was nice to hear your voice. I really liked it, even if you called me scary,” and I leave out the part where I should agree with you calling me scary because I know you don’t like it when I put myself down.

 

I’m so tired, and you’re crying, Sharon Needles, and I don’t know why I even said it. You keep apologising, like I did, but you have nothing to apologise for. You saved my life, Sharon Needles, you found me and you saved my life and you made me love you. You keep crying, and I hug you, because I don’t know how to make you realise that you don’t need to be sorry. You keep crying, and I kiss you, and you’re quiet, and you kiss me back. You kiss me back and you make me okay.

 

I know that they say things about me, because I hear some of them. I know, and all of the things they say have changed, they talk about how I tried to kill myself with an empty bottle of Sambuca (which is a lie, but they aren’t far off) and they talk about how I cut through my own small intestine and I managed to do lines while I was lying in a pool of my own blood and puke and piss and how fucking cool that is.

 

I hope they say things about you, too. I hope they say that Sharon Needles saved Alaska Thunderfuck 5000’s life, and she had to walk through hell before she could bring me out and save the day. I hope they give you a better nickname, something cooler than Graveyard, but you’re fucking cool and you deserved it even before I managed to ruin your life. Because you’re Sharon Needles, and you’re my girlfriendboyfriendbestfriend.

 

Alaska Thunderfuck 5000, you’re a mess. You’re an ex-druggie ex-alcoholic like your dead father and you tried to kill yourself by shattering glass into your organs and you failed at that because you’re a failure and you’re a mess you’ll ruin everyone’s lives by just existing but Sharon Needles is in love with you, and she tells you it every day. Sharon Needles says “I love you, Justin” every single day, and she loves loves loves you so much that she comes and visits you every single day and she didn’t let you die when she could’ve and she even reads to you, because she’s the best person in the entire world and she loves you.

 

I have to repeat my semester, which sucks, but I’ll be with you and you love me so much that I’ll actually go to my classes because I really want to make you proud. You talk about how it’s cold and you’re going to spend Christmas with me because you’re not going back to Pittsburgh, and I cry. Not because I miss Pittsburgh, but because I never even knew that we were from the same place, and I love you. I want to know everything about you.

 

So you tell me everything you can think of, and you sit in bed with me and at one point I cry and you ask me what’s wrong, and I just hug you and tell you about Roxxxy and Detox and snakes and my daddy and my real daddy and how he died and how Roxxxy and Detox could’ve died and how I used to be a genius, and I wanted to take theatre, but I couldn’t because I was too smart and my family wanted me to be a writer. You didn’t judge me, you just listened. I wish I could’ve gotten you a present, but I wasn’t allowed to leave, and I felt guilty when you got me a necklace with an ‘A’ on and you wore one with a ‘J’ and you got me a sweater that smelt so good. You got me clothes, some shirts and scarves and told me if I kept recovering I would actually be allowed to wear them, and I wanted to kiss you, so I did. I’m sorry I cry so much, Sharon Needles. I’m sorry I made you realise I cried so much.

 

They let me out of the hospital a few days after Christmas, and I found out that my mom paid off the medical bills when I tried to go and pay. Fuck her, I could’ve died and she wouldn’t have even visited me, because she was embarrassed of my new dad finding out his fag son was a self-sabotage. Nobody knows you saved my life, Sharon Needles, but I know, and when people give you mean looks and you ignore them, I just thank you. I know people know you’re in love with me, the freak accident that should never have made it to college, and you’re so good to me, and I don’t deserve you. I really don’t deserve you. You help me when my legs feel weak after not being allowed to walk for the duration of being in the hospital and you help me bring my things into your house and you let me move in, because I can’t stay in my apartment, it’s covered in blood and puke and it’s haunted and they confiscated all of drugs, and I won’t go back. Your friends are okay with me living there, which I love them for, and they talk to me every so often until they think that I’m their friend too. I don’t deserve your kindness, Sharon Needles, and I am getting better every single day. I don’t go out to parties, and when I drink, I stop when you tell me to. Not because I want to, but because I want to impress you. I wear all the shirts you gave me, and I rest because you make me rest, and we watch movies on your couch and I let Bob pick the movies because I feel like it would make him happy, especially because we end up kissing for most of the time we’re outside of the room.

 

I start calling you Noodles, because Aaron doesn’t sound right, and Sharon doesn’t match your face when you’re not in drag. Needles still scare me, so I settle on Noodles, and you like it. You smile when I call you Noodles, and make jokes about being so cute I could just eat you up. I don’t eat you, though, because I am not the big bad wolf anymore, at least not to you.

 

I tell everyone that I meet that you saved my life. I tell them that you loved me so much that you saved my life, even though I was horrible and I was so bad and I look insane when I tell people who talk about you that FUCK YOU, SHARON NEEDLES SAVED MY LIFE, AND YOU DON’T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT ME.

 

It’s so cold outside, and I leave the house now. It’s colder when you leave the window open, because you want me to cuddle you closer but you won’t ask, and I love you so I just make sure you hold me as tight as possible and tangle our legs together like they’re string. I have a scar on my stomach now, but the only people that see it are drunk, and they think it’s part of the act. You like it, and you think it’s okay, even if it scares you sometimes. I think I scare you sometimes, but you won’t ever tell me that, and I love you so much. I really really really love you. You make me less anxious and you make me exist as myself and not just as intoxication, and that’s better than any A on a paper, and it’s better than not hearing people talk about me. You found out that both Roxxxy and Detox survived, and you told them that I missed them, and they started talking to me again, and I love you for fixing my only friendships. I want to propose, but you think I’m too young to know any better, so you tell me to save my money for rent instead. You let me help out in your theatre productions, and you show me all of your set designs, and I draw you all the time. You let me come and watch when you got a tattoo, and I was scared of the needle, but you were so happy to get the tattoo that I sat through it anyway.

 

I wake up sober every single day and West Hollywood is so cold, and I love you, and you make my mornings exist. I love spending my days with you and I love performing and being able to remember it, and I love you, Sharon Needles.


End file.
